Compulsion

Everything about this morning irritated Frankie Jardine. The bitter cold wind, the crunching of the crisp snow underfoot, and the boisterous screams of the children, tossing snowballs at one another. Not that Frankie loathed children; on the contrary. He often wondered how his annoying wife, June would have reacted if they were endowed with children of their own. Perhaps then, she would appreciate him, and not mock him on a daily basis.

His gloved hands gripped the handles of the wheelchair tightly, as her irksome voice penetrated his ears.

“Hurry up, you useless limp-dicked good for nothing. Coronation Street starts in five minutes, Francis.”

Every opportunity she had, she would ridicule him about his impotency; and how he hated her for calling him Francis. Frankie’s my name, he had related to her time and time again. Francis was a name for a holy man, and a holy man, Frankie certainly was not. Okay, granted he went to church every Sunday, but that was only because the dragon insisted.

Frankie was a meek man by nature, his thinning hair and gaunt features belonging to a man some twenty years older than his thirty-five years. The many years of caring for his unappreciative wife had taken their toll.

He was laid on a beach in an exotic location; the sun scorching his skin, as two gorgeous topless girls fed him grapes. They giggled in unison at the predicament of his loathsome wife, buried up to her neck in sand, the crabs picking at her withered scorched skin.

“Francis! Get me out of here immediately. Jerry Springer starts in ten minutes.” He laughed even louder when he watched one of the crabs pluck out her eyeballs, amid the screams.

“Another grape, Frankie baby?” asked one of the girls. “Yes please.”

“Faster, you imbecile!”

The smiling man’s daydream was terminated. Frankie resented her intrusion, and pulled a face behind her back as he quickened his pace. It had not always been like this. Oh no, he had married June some fifteen years ago, and she had resembled one of those beach babes he so often daydreamed about. Not any more. She was overweight, and her distinctive bushy, red hair was now greasy and lank. Her once elfin features were no more, instead replaced by a treble chin.

After her accident seven years ago, he had no choice but to give up his job at the steelworks. Now, that was a man’s job, but she had made him what he is today; a hen-pecked, feeble manservant with a compulsion to murder his wife. He was at her beck and call twenty-four hours a day. He would bathe her, take her for a walk, feed her, and even carry her to the toilet. He awaited the day when she would ask him to wipe her fat arse.

“Francis! This bloody soup is too hot. You know it’s three minutes in the microwave, you seedless shit.”

“Yes, dear. Sorry, dear.”

“What I pay you for, I don’t know. A real man would not live off his wife’s income.”

“But, dear, it’s because of you that I gave up my job.”

“Shut up! Eastenders is about to begin and you know what that means, don’t you, Francis?”

“Your cocoa, of course.”

He poured the boiling milk into the mug and his eyes focused on the weed killer on the shelf. He chuckled to himself when he read the warning on the box.

“I hope you used fresh milk, Francis?”

“Of course, dear.”

He sat in his armchair and pretended to read the newspaper. His heart raced when the battleaxe blew on the cocoa. “Go on; drink it, you witch,” he whispered.

“Francis. This cocoa is bitter.”

“I’m sorry, luv; I used fresh milk, just like you said.”

He watched as her eyes bulged, her hands reaching for her throat. She turned her head towards him and made choking noises. He knelt down in front of her, his head nodding as he smiled manically. “Yes, I poisoned you. I hope the weed killer's to your liking.”

“What’re you doing, you great oaf?”

Frankie stared into the eyes of his wife, and his glee was short lived.

“I’m straightening your pillow, dear.”

“Get out of my way and make yourself useful. Run my bath.”

The annoying jingle that heralded the end of Eastenders reached him, as he tested the bath water with his elbow.

“Francis! Bath time.”

“Coming, dear.”

She stubbed out her Silk Cut, and ensured she blew the smoke into her husband’s face, something Frankie resented. He was certain she purposely held the smoke in her lungs, just until he reached out to pick her up.

Frankie strained with her ever-increasing bulk. He struggled up the staircase and entered the steamed up bathroom. The contents of the bath stimulated him. The dragon was in for a surprise.

“The water, Francis, it’s bubbling.”

He threw her with ease into the bath, and heard the scream when the sulphuric acid ate away at her skin.

“Help me, Francis! Help me!”

He covered his mouth, the stench of burning flesh overwhelming. Her body was dissolving in front of his eyes; a thick layer of body fat floating on the surface. “

You wanted to lose weight, didn’t you, dear?”

Her bloated body sank further and further into the depths of the acid, and he laughed hysterically as only her head was visible. The eyes appeared to pop out of their sockets. Further and further, she sank, until only her dentures remained.

He stepped back, aghast when the dentures opened and nagged, “Francis, open a window; I’m so hot.”

His fantasy was over when he heard the words, “What are you laughing at? Scrub my back.”

He did as he was told, his mind in turmoil. To kill her for real was a fantasy he had long considered. Whether he had the courage to go through with the action was another thing.

“Francis! My back.”

“Yes, dear.”

******

He waited until he thought she was asleep upstairs, before he changed the channel. He rubbed his hands in anticipation when the free adult preview began. The memories flooded back, as he watched a couple writhing on the bed. June had once been a sex kitten, but that all had changed when she discovered he was shooting blanks. His hand reached for his groin, and then he heard those immortal words.

“Francis! Are you watching that porn channel again? Get your arse to bed, limp dick.”

He reluctantly turned off the TV and ambled slowly up the staircase.

“You pervert. Looking at those girls at your age; you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

He climbed into bed, his erection still apparent. He felt so horny when he snuggled up to June. He hesitantly put an arm around her and there was no immediate reaction. He thrust his groin against her enormous buttocks. He was so desperate that he would consider screwing his pillow if all else failed; in fact, the pillow had more appeal than his wife did.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on, June; it’s been so long.”

“Get that useless thing away from me. Go and have a cold shower, do you hear me?”

“Yes, luv. I just thought you...”

“Don’t think… Cold shower.”

******

After making her breakfast and doing the housework, Frankie wrapped up and prepared to take June for her daily jaunt to the park. His icy breath was evidence of the freezing conditions, as he struggled to push the wheelchair across the slippery pavement.

“Watch the bloody road, idiot.”

“Of course, dear.”

The park was quiet. All sensible people were still tucked up in bed at this early hour. The usual crowd of children frolicked in the snow; some of them daring to toss a snowball in the direction of the woman in the wheelchair. Frankie smiled when one of the missiles connected with her midriff.

“Make them stop, Francis, the little bastards.”

“Can you please stop this?” His words only stirred the children into a more vicious onslaught. Frankie grinned gleefully, crouched behind the wheelchair as some of the snowballs homed in on their target.

“Get me out of here, Francis. I’m hurting so much.”

He obeyed her instructions, wishing the snowballs were something more lethal, like hand grenades possibly.

“Run, Francis run!”

The children cheered loudly when Frankie ran the gauntlet blindly, their onslaught unrelenting. Faster and faster he sprinted, his numbed feet slipping as he grasped the wheelchair. He fell forward and watched with horror when the wheelchair sped across the icy ground towards the frozen pond.

“Frankieee!” she screamed.

“Frankie. She called me Frankie.”

The loud crack alerted the spectators, and the wheelchair sank slowly into the freezing depths of the pond. Her flailing arms were all that was visible, as she attempted to grip the ice, only for it to break off.

The children sprinted past a startled Frankie, and he could no longer see his wife. The thin ice was cracking, and the children’s progress was halted when Frankie joined them. The panicking children watched with horror and turned towards the husband.

“Sorry, mister, we were only having a bit of fun.”

“Of course you were.” Frankie did all he could to stifle his grin.

“June, luv, can you hear me?” he shouted, half-heartedly.

He followed the children around the edge of the pond and saw the unmistakable shape of June beneath the ice, her eyes pleading with him. He could not help but pull his tongue out at her and mouthed, “Dragon!”

The children hammered at the ice with rocks until it gave way, and with Frankie’s reluctant help, they managed to drag her lifeless, frozen body from the lake.

“Go on, mister; give her mouth to mouth.”

Frankie’s instinct was to clip the boy around the ear, but he realised his actions would be recorded. He put his mouth to hers and held his breath, feigning his life-saving actions.

“It’s too late, she’s gone.”

He straightened up and one of the boys pushed on her chest vigorously.

“You’re wasting your time, son...she’s gone,” insisted Frankie.

A loud wheeze startled Frankie, and he gazed upon the body, fearing the worst. His prayers were answered, when he realised the offending gasp was just air escaping. Well, she did have plenty of it to spare.

The ambulance arrived some ten minutes later and she was pronounced dead. A verdict of accidental death was recorded and Frankie was free at last. After all of his evil thoughts and wishes, an accident had ended her life...or had it? Only Frankie knows.

******

He lay beneath the palm tree and tasted the delicious grape offered to him by the busty, bikini-clad girls. He heard the lapping of the waves, and his eyes were attracted to a dark shape protruding from beneath the white sand.

“Francis, who are those floosies; they’re much too young for you? Now go and fetch my cocoa... Ouch! Chase these bastard crabs away, will you, Francis?”

His manic loud laughter was out of place in this paradise. Even in death, he could not erase the memories of June from his existence.